For every one hundred men you send us, Ten should not even be here. Eighty are nothing but targets. Nine of them are real fighters; We are lucky to have them, they the battle make. Ah, but the one. One of them is a warrior. And he will bring the others back. - Heraclitus of Ephesus, 500 BC

Information post (hints, clues, etc.)

Letter given you by the Vistani in Dunfield

The letter lies before you. Dated yesterday, the ink is still not dry and the parchment is crisp. The seal is of a crest you don't recognize:

The words are written in the common tongue of Ailioth, a trade language spoken in most of the more civilized areas of the continent. The handwritten script is flowing and beautiful; likely it was either written by a nobleman or perhaps even an elf (as Humans, unless of high social standing, rarely spend the time and effort necessary to write in such an elaborate style).

"Hail to thee of might and valor:

I, a lowly servant of the township of Barovia, send honor to thee. We plead for thy so desperately needed assistance within our community.

The love of my life, the beautiful Ireena Kolyana, has been afflicted with an evil so deadly that even the good people of our town cannot protect her. She languishes from her wounds and I would have her saved from this menace.

There is much wealth in this community. I offer all that might be had to thee and thy fellows if thou shalt but answer my desperate plea.

Come quickly, for her time is at hand. All that I have shall be thine!

Kolyan Indrirovich
Burgomater, Township of Barovia"

Letter found in the Svalich Woods

The scroll tube contains a letter, sealed with a large and stylish "B." Upon opening, you see that the letter is dated a few days ago, and is written on worn parchment. It reads:

"Hail thee of might and valor,

I, the Burgomaster of the Township of Barovia send you honor...with despair.

My adopted daughter, the fair Ireena, has been these past nights bitten by a creature calling its race "vampyr." For over four centuries he has drained this land of the life blood of its people. Now, my dear Ireena languishes and dies from an unholy wound caused by this vile beast. Yet I fear, too, that the creature has some more cunning plan in mind. He has become too powerful to be fought any longer.

So I say to you, give us up for dead and encircle this land with the symbols of Light! Let holy men call upon their power that the evil may be contained within the walls of weeping Barovia. Leave our sorrows to our graves, and save the world from this dark fate of ours.

There is much wealth entrapped within this community. Return for your reward after we are all departed for a better life.

Kolyan Indirovich,
Burgomaster"

The Holy Symbol of Ravenkind

This relic, according to Ireena, is a powerful amulet; a potent relic of Light, able to hold undead at bay. Apparenly, it only works in the right hands and it seems that it has likely fallen into the hands of Strahd's servants at this point. The relic may be of aid in helping overcome the Count and his minions.

Tome of Strahd

This book, supposedly penned by Strahd Von Zarovich himself, may provide insight and information on defeating the Vampyr. It was once kept in the library of Castle Ravenloft, though that was years ago and may no longer be the case.

Of possible interest, but no relevance to the actual game

Firewater: In Ailioth, Firewater is another name for brandywine (or brandy, as it is most often shortened). While in some realms Firewater may refer to something else, this is the general usage.

Inarian Sweetwine: An exquisite light and fruity white wine made by the elves of Inaria, Inarian sweetwine can cost a shilling a glass or more outside of the elven realm. Despite its potency, the alcohol content is concealed beneath the subtle and intriguing tastes of the fine grape and fruit flavors.

Madam Eva's Card Reading

Card 1 - "Ah, this card is a symbol of great power," whispers the crone as she sees the card that Kyranvik has drawn. "It tells of a powerful force for Good and protection against the forces of Darkness." The card bears a rendering of a mighty throne, wrought of golden-hued wood, inlaid with precious metals in elaborate patterns. "Seek a lord's throne to find this force of Good and protection, but beware...for while you shall show great skill in combat there, this card bodes poorly for your protection!"

Card 2 - The card flips by invisible force, and the crone cackles. "You cannot cheat fate by such simple foolery!" She grins at Ares, showing blackened and missing teeth. "This card tells of history. Knowledge of the ancient that may help you understand your foe." The card flipped shows a pile of gold and silver coins that sparkles with gems and jewelry in brilliant reds, blues and greens. "You should seek this knowledge in a place of great worldly wealth; a place hidden from the eyes of a casual observer. I see a blazing fire protecting this place." Here eyes are bright and wide as she looks up from the card and into Ares' eyes. "Still, there is a very good influence for you here. The powers of Light shall aid you in that place!"

Card 3 - As the card flips, the crone's eyes go wide. "Ah, this is the object of your search! Ah! I see Darkness and Evil in this card. A powerful man, who's enemy is Light, and whose powers are beyond the mortal coil!" The card drawn bears the likeness of a smiling woman, pleasant of features and plain of dress. From the shape of her form, she is obviously with child. "Seek him in the mother's place, where love and rest can yet be found. Here again, you will be blessed with skill...but that will not protect you from what is to come!"

Card 4 - "Perhaps after the reading," she says, chuckling under her breath as Ryan turns the next card. "This card is good for you," she says, her eyes shifting to the darkest corners of the tent, as if fearful of what might be listening in the shadows. "This is a card of power and strength, the victor's card. It tells of a weapon of Light, a weapon with a vengeance." The card shows a room containing a pair of luxurious, overstuffed chairs near a roaring hearth, with walls lined with books. "Seek this weapon in a place of tranquility, a harbor for the wise and learned. A place that holds the great secrets of history. Therein, the powers of good will aid you, blessing you with skill and protection."

Card 5 - "Ah," says the old woman, holding her hand over Delkat's chosen card and closing her eyes as if she can feel power coming from the card. "The root card! Out of Darkness and Chaos, this card finds reason and foundation for Darkness and Chaos. It shows the purpose of all things, and is the key to life and death and else beyond!" Upon the card is the image of a gleaming sword, with an ornate hilt chased in gold and platinum. A white-blue light seems to flicker along the weapon's blade, holding the surrounding darkness at bay. The crone's eyes move amongst your group, flicking from one person to the next as if searching for something. "This is a high and noble card. One of you carries a weapon that is stronger than any other against the Evil of this land. But one part of this weapon is missing. Seek this missing part within the mighty fortress of Ravenloft itself! Be warned, though...the Devil knows you carry this weapon. He fears it as he fears the sun itself, and seeks to destroy the weapon and he who bears it!"

Last edited by Rhun; Thursday, 17th February, 2011 at 07:18 PM.

- Rhun

For every one hundred men you send us, Ten should not even be here. Eighty are nothing but targets. Nine of them are real fighters; We are lucky to have them, they the battle make. Ah, but the one. One of them is a warrior. And he will bring the others back. - Heraclitus of Ephesus, 500 BC

For every one hundred men you send us, Ten should not even be here. Eighty are nothing but targets. Nine of them are real fighters; We are lucky to have them, they the battle make. Ah, but the one. One of them is a warrior. And he will bring the others back. - Heraclitus of Ephesus, 500 BC

For every one hundred men you send us, Ten should not even be here. Eighty are nothing but targets. Nine of them are real fighters; We are lucky to have them, they the battle make. Ah, but the one. One of them is a warrior. And he will bring the others back. - Heraclitus of Ephesus, 500 BC

Dramatis personæ

The Right Honorable, The Baron of Troilus, Rance Taggert: A haughty, prideful man, Rance Taggert is the Baron of Troilus, a small Barony in easternmost Coris, on the border of the Eastern Reaches. While the man himself was decidely unlikeable, he did pay quite well to have your company deal with a party of Carthi raiders that had been harassing his farmers and ranchers.

Liton: Night Warden of Dunfield's East Gate, Liton is an athletic man with a friendly (if cautious) demeanor. He dresses in chainmail, and bears longsword in combat.

Innkeep, Nine Lions: While you didn't get his name, the innkeep of the Nine Lions Inn is a portly man with a bushy black beard, who always greets his patrons with a smile.

Captain Tonvay: Captain of the Dunfield Watch, Tonvay is a broad-shouldered man with a bushy red beard. The watchman dresses in fine plate armor, and quality clothing of stylish cut, as befits one holding the rank of Watch Captain. He has a rich, deep voice and a loud, belly-aching laugh.

Vistanii: The gypsies that roam northern Coris and the mountains and hills of the Balinoks (the local name for a spur of the Sentinel Peaks); they are said to be strange and mysterious in culture and behavior. They tend to dress in loose clothing of bright and sometimes garish coloration.

Arik, Barovian Barkeep: A thin man of average height, thinning brown hair and plain features, wearing a leather apron over his clothes, Arik is the bartender at the Blood On the Vine tavern. He mindlessly polishes glasses, one after another, staring off into the distance. When addressed, he responds in a low, hollow voice, and seems to mindlessly go about his duties, such as serving drinks or fetching dinner.

Ismark (the Lesser): Son of the burgomaster of the Township of Barovia, Ismark is a lean, athletic man in his mid twenties. While he has handsome features, he has grown old before his time. Though fairly young, Ismark looks to be near forty. Still, he has bright green eyes, and a mop of dark hair covers his head.

Ireena Kolyana The daughter of Kolyan Indirovich and brother to Ismark, Ireena is a beautiful, svelte woman in her early twenties. Her raven black hair frames a pale, alabaster face. She possesses a delicate, exquisite beauty, and an air of subtle elegance.

Credit

Credit to khimaereus at DeviantArt

Last edited by Rhun; Saturday, 5th December, 2009 at 08:40 PM.

- Rhun

For every one hundred men you send us, Ten should not even be here. Eighty are nothing but targets. Nine of them are real fighters; We are lucky to have them, they the battle make. Ah, but the one. One of them is a warrior. And he will bring the others back. - Heraclitus of Ephesus, 500 BC

Places

- Barony of Troilus

Troilus, Barony of

A small barony in easternmost Coris, on the border of the Eastern Reaches, Troilus has a total population of perhaps forty thousand people. Troilus is often plagued by Carthii raiders, as the barony's sheep and cattle often graze on land considered to be the property of the clans of the Eastern Reaches. While Troilus' guard is strong enough to protect the population centers of the Barony, they do not have the strength to protect some of the outlying areas, nor to track down bandits that flee outside of their borders.

- Barovia, County of

County of Barovia

Pending

- Dunfield, Township of

Dunfield

Dunfield sits upon the easternmost edge of what was once the County of Barovia, perhaps some fifteen miles along the road from Barovia Town.

The wall surrounding the town is constructed of both stone and wood, some fifteen feet in height, and with a dual layer of sharp spikes jutting from the top. While not the massive fortification common to some large cities, it certainly looks like it could keep out all but the most determined assault. Every now and then the form of a guard passes above, so there must certainly be a walkway attached to the wall. The gate itself is some ten or twelve feet wide and built of thick wooden planks.

As a proper town, Dunfield has wide cobblestone streets, angling between houses and buildings of wood, brick and stone. The vernacular architecture of most the buildings is quite simple; square and rectangular in shape, with sloped roofs, most rising three or four stories above you. Most windows are shuttered as proof against storms, but can be opened to allow fresh air when the weather is pleasant. The night is lit by enclosed oil lamps hung from poles along the street at irregular intervals; while not bright, at least they provide enough illumination to find your way on a dark night.

--- Nine Lions Inn

"Warm beds, hearty food, and cheap ale. Down main street a bit, and then turn right at the second cross street. The inn will be just a couple buildings down, on your right." - Liton, Night Warden of the East Gate (Dunfield).

The Nine Lions has a heavy front door anf thick leaded glass windows, and is marked by a sign showing a lion and the number "9." Inside the taproom, the place is warm; a fire usually blazing merrily in a large stone hearth. The smells of warm food, liqour, and sweet pipesmoke fill the air. Nine Lions is the favored lounge of the city watch.

- Svalich Woods

Svalich Woods

These thick, dense woods cover the foothills of the Balinok Mountains. True old-growth forest, many of the trees are as thick as a man is tall. The forest is said to be haunted. The towering trees, their tops lost in heavy gray mist and their branches and foliage joining above to block out all but a death-gray light, give the forest a forebodding presence. The woods carry the silence of a forgotten grave, yet exude the feeling of an unsounded scream.

- Valley of Barovia

Barovia, Valley of

Enclosed on almost all sides by the peaks of the Balinok Mountains, the Valley of Barovia has a dark reputation. The valley is perpetually shrouded in mist and fog. Even during the warm summer season, Barovia always seems to be overcast and cool, getting lots of rain. The winters are cold and just as wet, and the valley often sees snow during these months. High stone buttresses loom up gray in the fog to either side of the road leading into the valley. Huge iron gates hang open on the stonework. Dew clings with cold tenacity to the rusted bars. Two statues of armed guardians silently flank the massive gate. Their heads, missing from their shoulders, now lie among the weeds and overgrowth at their feet.

- Barovia Town

Barovia, Township of

More of a large village than a true town, the Township of Barovia is nestled in the center of the heavily wooded Valley of Barovia. While certainly not the largest town in the County, it is considered the capital (even if most places outside of the Valley no longer pay fealty to the Count).

Within Barovia Town, the roads are of mist-slick cobblestones, the buildings and homes having much the same appearance as Dunfield. But whereas signs of life stood out all about Dunfield, Barovia seems a dead town: The windows of each house stare out from pools of black nothingness, and no sounds cut through the eery silence.

Within the village center is a round, cobbled plaza built around a fountain of dark stone. Where once the fountain likely flowed water beautifully, it now only trickles into the dark pool of water around it.

To the left of the plaza, sparse light spills out from behind heavy drawn curtains of a large building. A sign over the door creaks on rusty hinges, proclaiming the place "Bildrath's Mercantile."

To the right of the plaza, a single shaft of light thrusts into the yard, its brightness like a solid pillar of light in the dull grayness of the fog. Above the open doorway, a sign hangs precariously askew, proclaiming this place the "Blood on the Vine Tavern."

--- Blood On (Of) the Vine tavern

The sign above the door once read "Blood of the Vine," but someone has scratch over the "F" with a "N." Inside, the once finely appointed tavern has grown shoddy with age and neglect. A fire blazes in a huge stone hearth, but seems to give off only scant warmth to the few cloaked persons huddled at tables nearby. The silence is near complete inside, broken only by the crackle of the flames and the occasional sip of a drink.

--- Burgomaster's Manse

The weary looking mansion of Barovia's Burgomaster squats behind a rusting iron fence. The iron gates are twisted and torn. The right gate lies cast completely aside, while the left swings crazily in the wind. The stuttering squeal and clang of the gate repeats with mindless precision. Weeds choke the yard, and press in with menace upon the house itself. Yet, against the walls, the weeds have been trodden under to form a path all about the domain. Heavy claw markings have stripped the once beautiful finish from the walls. Great black blottings tell of the fires that have assailed the walls. Not a pane of shard of glass stands in any of the windows; instead, they are all barred and barricaded with heavy planking; each plank is marked with stains of evil omen.

The heavy door opens to reveal a once grand foyer, now showing considerable wear. The rich carpets are ratty, the fine tapestries and furnishings are threadbare and soiled, paint and plaster crumbles from the walls, and thick hardwood planks cover the broken leaded glass windows. Holy symbols of all sorts adorn the walls in large numbers.

Last edited by Rhun; Monday, 7th December, 2009 at 08:39 PM.

- Rhun

For every one hundred men you send us, Ten should not even be here. Eighty are nothing but targets. Nine of them are real fighters; We are lucky to have them, they the battle make. Ah, but the one. One of them is a warrior. And he will bring the others back. - Heraclitus of Ephesus, 500 BC

Appearance: Studious looking. Close cropped hair. Delkat's eyes flicker with insight and knowledge. Normally choosing to dress in something sensible and appropriate to the situation -- never flashy. He has a birthmark in the shape of the sun on his chest.

Personality: Dry, direct, logical -- always looking for the reason behind things, the cause and/or effect. Humor has been determined to be superfluous.

Background: Delkat is one of the most promising young clergy in the Aditi fold. His zeal in delving into the secrets of the undead have no equal, and his passion for ridding them of their ungodly presence upon this plane unstoppable.

All he knows of his past is a birthmark of the sun on his chest. He was left outside a small temple to Aditi when he was just weeks old. The temple raised him and cared for him. As he grew older, he was sent to train at the monastery, with others who wanted to serve the sun goddess.

He quickly separated himself from his fellow students with his aptitudes and abilities, as if the birthmark was some sort of marker placed by the goddess in the womb.

As he become a full clergyman, he spent many months sequestered in the main library of Aditi, studying all sorts of religious tracts and tomes, but found himself drawn to those which studied the undead. From there, he studied his enemy, their strengths and weaknesses, and helped the militant arm of the church track down and destroy pockets of undeath throughout the land.

He has become quite versed in the destruction of undeath -- and also become a powerful conduit for the power of the sun goddess.

"Suffer no undeath" -- a personal mantra that those close to Delkat hear with a high frequency.

Aditi has graced Delkat with the ability to undo the most feared attacks of the living dead, and also granted him the ability to endure these said attacks upon himself.

Though the church provides Delkat with a purpose and a support network, his thoughts these days travel to his beginnings -- where did he come from? Why did his parents abandon him?

A sage at the monastery recently sent him a scrap of parchment that had a mention of a sun-shaped birthmark -- most of it had been blurred out by the ages and weather, but one word was still legible at the end -- Barovia.

Realizing that clues to his genealogy might be in this far off land, Delkat has taken leave from his duties at the church to investigate.

Appearance/Personality:
Sarryx is attractive, but has an intensity to him that puts people off. To him, his new human life is a time limit. A sixty-five year clock that is ticking down to the end of his existence. This puhes him forward and makes him absolutely loathe anything that wastes his time. He is not reckless or foolhardy, being all too aware of his mortality, but he prefers to press onward and achieve something (anything) rather than rest or enjoy leisure time.

Sarryx has silver hair and fair skin that has tanned lightly over the course of the past few years. Early experiments have given him a covering of silver scales around his most vulnerable body parts - his throat, spine, arms and legs. He has a fondness for the smell and texture of burned cloth, and wears clothes with singed edges, favoring golds, reds and oranges.

Sarryx is still a dragon at heart, though his patience and elitism have been tempered with mortality. He loves coin and food, but disdains those things he views as the trappings of humanity - alcohol makes him feel stupid, physical affection only reminds him of what he has become. He is driven, and when it serves him, he can be charming, intimidating or even feral. Like many dragons, he is vulnerable to flattery and praise.

Background

Background: He was born to a clutch of nine eggs, and from the moment he came into the world, he was steeped in violence. He and his elder brother found an unspoken truce and killed their yet unhatched siblings. It was only after they had eaten their kin and rested that they fought. His brother's talons ripped into his limbs and tail, and his teeth tore at his brother's snout. The scars that were set beneath their still-soft scales would give him a flare of uneven scales at his shoulders and tail, his brother a perpetual sneer.

They fought several times over the ensuing months, as dragons are wont to do. When they were old enough to fly, they cast one final glare at one another and set off to find their own territory. Sarryx made his home in the ruins of an old temple. He gradually grew, progressing from a diet of rodents and birds to deer and the occasional goblin. His life was, as far as such things go for a dragon, fairly calm. His world was mostly contained to memories of his birthplace and the territory surrounding his ruins.

His first view of the larger world was when a band of strangers entered his home. Unsure of what to expect, he watched as they uncovered a trapdoor leading to a catacomb beneath his home. He followed them from a good distance as they made their way through the underground. He watched as they emerged both exhausted and enriched with found treasures.

He attacked then, scaring off the larger group and dragging the last down, the young elf maiden's flesh a hearty meal, his valuables an addition to Sarryx's meager hoard.

Sarryx barely gave a second thought to the incident, other than moving his lair to a room in the catacombs. Unbeknownst to him, the death of the young woman had earned his an enemy. It was two years later when a man arrived at his home, bedecked in silver armor, a holy symbol depicting a sword with a lightning bolt for a blade marked on his shield. He carried no weapon - only a mirror - and the still immature dragon sought to take advantage of the fact. He charged the warrior as he raised the mirror, and everything went red with pain.

He awoke confused and weak, almost unable to move. Simply moving his limbs against the ground caused a flare of pain and a welling of blood. He opened his eyes to see a silver dragon standing over him, almost too large for his ruins. It held talons above his throat - now scaleless, soft and vulnerable. Then it withdrew, an act of mercy, pity or contempt, and flew away.

It would be days before Sarryx made sense of what happened. Delirious, raving aloud and faint with hunger, he stumbled into a small town near his lair. While he lay on a bed of straw, being tended to by the pathetic kobolds, he overheard the kobold's speaking of the paladin who had left to avenge his sister's death. They spoke of rumors that he had managed to get ahold of an artifact - one that let a person exchange their base form with that of another.

He had used the damned mirror to exchange his draconic nature with his humanity, although Sarryx found he wasn’t angered by that fact, in fact he found peace within himself and even begrudgingly accepted the kobolds aid.

Sarryx was eventually clothed and left to wander off on his own. The following months were a nightmare to the man as he made sense of his new body and its limitations.

He found work as a librarian and scholar, as it seemed his mind remained keen enough. He gathered knowledge and slowly began to try and rebuild what he had. During his investigations, Sarryx uncovered details about the mirror that was used against him and realized that it also was able to change ones outlook on life. His experiments ranged from dabbling in the mundane to the most obscure forms of knowledge he could uncover. He tried fire breathing with the use of alcohol and a torch, but found it limited. Psionics frustrated him to no end, and he left his investigations of incarnum within days. An expedition alongside a group of guild members uncovered an ancient temple of dragon worshipers where engravings detailed the practices of draconic priests. It was there he regained his firebreath.

ENTANGLING EXHALATION

ENTANGLING EXHALATION [BREATH]
You can use your breath weapon to create an entangling
mesh of energy.
Prerequisites: Dragonblood subtype, breath weapon.
Benefi t: When you use your breath weapon, you can
choose to enmesh all creatures in its area instead of producing
its normal effect. Your breath weapon deals only
half its normal damage; however, any creature that takes
damage from your breath weapon becomes entangled and
takes an extra 1d6 points of damage, of the same energy
type as normally dealt by your breath weapon, each round
at the start of your turn. This effect lasts for 1d4 rounds.
If your breath weapon doesn’t deal energy damage,
creatures damaged by the initial breath are still entangled
but don’t take additional damage on later rounds.

Ares's mother was a witch that made a pact with Fraz-Urb'luu, the demon prince of Deception and he made her impregnate using one of his servants.
10 years she kept the pact in secret until the town's folk found it out. For that, she was placed on the stake and was burned alive. Ares fled to the forest and became a wild mage. He gathered power of evocation during the years and finally unleashed his destructive power upon the villagers with revenge. Knowing that the master of the land is the one who commanded the witch hunt, it is time to revenge the master.

The card

The card flips by invisible force, and the crone cackles. "You cannot cheat fate by such simple foolery!" She grins at Ares, showing blackened and missing teeth. "This card tells of history. Knowledge of the ancient that may help you understand your foe." The card flipped shows a pile of gold and silver coins that sparkles with gems and jewelry in brilliant reds, blues and greens. "You should seek this knowledge in a place of great worldly wealth; a place hidden from the eyes of a casual observer. I see a blazing fire protecting this place." Here eyes are bright and wide as she looks up from the card and into Ares' eyes. "Still, there is a very good influence for you here. The powers of Light shall aid you in that place!"

Ryan is 25 years old, 6' tall, blonde, and muscular though not particularly handsome of face.

He knew he could go into wizardry, but he also had the altheticism that would allow him to become a fine warrior. His teachers saw this as well, and allowed him to train in a way that combined both pursuits. Despite his deadly training, he prefers to use force only when necessary.

He served as a member of the City Watch of Dzoria for a while. While a poor street officer, he was quite useful as backup, and was brought along whenever the other watchmen expected to run into a problem they couldn't handle. Eventually he gave in to his wanderlust and sought other adventures.

He later spent some time living in the Kingdom of Korador among the dwarves there, and eventually developed the ability to give himself darkvision so as to better fit in among them. It was in the Felldark Hills there that he fought some evil spirits (shadows), and with the help of the dwarves he obtained an armor crystal to help ward off the spirits' attacks.

People who don't know him may be surprised to see the deadly fighter play a tune on his mandolin. He believes that music is a necessary complement to his more martial activities, since it has the power to bring people together, helping to heal rifts that might otherwise erupt into violence.

Arcane Attunement: Able to cast the following as Spell-like Abilities: Dancing Lights, Detect Magic, Flare, Ghost Sound, & Read Magic. Castable 5/day total. Does not count against the normal spell per day.

Armored Mage (medium armor & shield): ignore ASF%

Arcane Channeling (standard attack): As a Standard Attack, a Duskblade may cast a ‘touch attack’ spell and deliver the spell through a melee weapon attack. This action does not provoke an Attack of Opportunity. The spell’s casting time must be no more than 1 Standard Action.

Quick Cast, 1/day: The Duskblade may reduce the cast time of 1 spell per day to 1 Swift Action. The spell must have a casting time of 1 Standard Action.

Spell Power +2: If a Duskblade has injured an opponent in melee the current battle, he/she receives a +2 bonus on checks to overcome the Spell Resistance of that creature for the duration of the encounter.